


The Hunted

by clgfanfic



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little fun</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #14and later in Black Ops #7 under the pen name Rachel Squire.

Deep gray-black shadows hid the danger he knew lurked just out of sight.  Pressing his back against the rough wall, he inched forward, wishing his heart and the blaring music would stop pounding so loudly so he could hear better.  His enemy was out there, moving ever closer… stalking him… hunting him.

In the distance a dull red light strobed, casting rhythmic bloody streaks across the hall entrance that marked freedom.  But it might as well be miles away.  The space he needed to negotiate to escape was at least thirty yards wide and littered with a jungle of boxes and other obstacles.  Plenty of hiding places for a determined hunter.

He paused, forcing himself to take a deep breath.  Somewhere in the debris and shadows danger waited.  But why did it unnerve him so?  He'd been stalked before, but somehow this was different.  The confined space, the darkness, the music that made it impossible to hear – everything folded in on him, leaving his nerves raw.  But there was no other way out.  He had to maneuver through the waiting labyrinth to escape.

With one last deep breath he squatted lower and leaned forward, peering around the corner of the wall well below anyone's normal line-of-sight.  An eerie green glow off to the right illuminated a clear path to the first row of boxes, crates and scattered wreckage.  He glanced left, then bolted to the boxes and crouched down in the first available shadow.

When nothing happened he inched forward, sliding past the green glow and into darker shadows.  He was in the maze.  There would be no turning back.  Freedom or death waited for him thirty yards away.

Crawling further into the tangle of boxes and trash, he found a particularly black corner, then risked a quick peek over the top of the boxes.  The murky darkness made it next to impossible to see anything, but he carefully scanned the area for any signs of movement.  Finding none, he squatted back in the shadows for a moment, then moved on.

He crawled for several yards, then silently cursed himself and stopped to catch his breath.  He was actually in good shape, but the fear squeezed his chest like a giant's hand, making it hard for him to breathe.  With a slightly trembling hand he reached up, wiping his face, then wrinkled his nose at the musky odor of his own sweat.  He recognized the smell of fear and it annoyed him.  If he made it out of this alive he was going to take a long, hot shower and try to forget the whole ordeal.

With a shake of his head he started forward again.  Three feet further on he heard it.  Danger.

Scrambling into a crouch, he swiveled his head, trying to catch another sound that might tell him which direction the attack would come from, but nothing registered.

"Damn it," he hissed softly.

Knowing he couldn't stay where he was, he pushed on.

The attack that came was swift and deadly.

He turned a corner, still in a crouch and the shot hit him in the chest, pushing him back against the boxes behind him.  He slid down the uneven surface, bruising his back as he tried to fill his lungs.

_Damn, damn, damn…_

Movement skittered at the edge of his vision and he groped for his weapon, but it sat just out of reach.

A knock.

The danger was closing in, determined to finish the job.  _Bastard…_

He closed his eyes.  There was nothing he could do now.  It was over.

"He's dead, Jim!"

 _Dead, well, it sure beat crawling around on the ground_.

Noise.

He forced his eyes open, squinting into the shadows, trying to see what was happening.  He couldn't help Ellison now.  The detective was on his own, and God help him.

Movement at the edge of his peripheral vision registered and he slowly turned his head.

"Jim," he called softly.

Ellison heard him, his sentinel-enhanced hearing making it possible, and moved slowly toward him.

"No, Jim, stay back.  It's too late."  The grim expression on the sentinel's face told him the words were a wasted effort.  "Please, just get the—"

Another shot caught him in the upper shoulder and he winced, cringing back against the wall.  _Dead men should keep their mouths shut._

Ellison inched closer, his attention focused on the environment, trying to ferret out the danger.  Then it happened.

A loud rat-a-tat-tat erupted to the left and Ellison swung his weapon up, tracking the sound.  The attack came from the right.

In horror he watched as the danger found Ellison.

The first shot caught the detective in the left thigh, and he dipped, grabbing his leg with a hissed, "Ahhh."  A second shot hit the man's right shoulder, jerking back.  A third caught the detective in the chest, and a fourth in the midsection.

Jim dropped to the ground, a stunned, hurting expression on his face.

He shook his head slightly as he watched the detective try to suck air into his lungs.  This could _not_ be happening.  It was impossible.  Ellison was a sentinel.  He had hyperactive senses.  He could see in the dark, hear things only dogs could hear, smell things dogs wouldn't want to.  What the hell had happened?

Jim's head turned, his blue eyes meeting Simon's.

"He killed us," the detective hissed.

Simon nodded, still in shock.  "He sure the hell did."

A happy giggle apprehended their attention and both men looked up at the grinning graduate student.  Sandburg spun the weapon in his hand, snapping it to a stop and blowing a puff of air across the barrel before he holstered it.

"Gotcha!"

Ellison pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to Simon, helping the captain to stand as well.

"Man, those damned paintballs sting," Jim grouched, gingerly touching his leg, belly, chest and shoulder.  "I'm gonna have bruises for weeks."

"You're not kidding," Simon agreed, massaging his chest.

"Looks like you two owe me dinner," Blair said.  "I'm thinking Indian, or maybe Thai.  Someplace expensive – real expensive."

"Watch it, Chief," Jim said.  "I—"

Simon slapped Ellison's shoulder, interrupting him.  "What the hell happened to your great sentinel powers, huh?"

Ellison shrugged, looking a little sheepish.  "He, uh, disarmed me."

Blair grinned, wagging his eyebrows.  "Yep.  I know as much about Jim's senses as he does, so I brought a few extra weapons with me – to even the playing field."

Simon shook his head, a small smile forcing its way onto his lips.  He looked at Ellison.  "Guess I should be glad he's on our side, right?"

Jim nodded.  "I am."

Sandburg's chest puffed.  "So, are you guys hungry?"

Simon shook his head.  "Oh no, not tonight, Sandburg.  Tonight I'm goin' home to a hot shower and a soft bed."

"Amen to that, sir," Jim agreed, limping toward the paintball warehouse exit.

Simon shuffled after him.

Blair pulled his weapon, leveling it at the two men.  "Now wait a second, you promised."

"Tomorrow!" Jim said, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender.  "Please?"

Sandburg considered the negotiation for a moment, then opened fire on the two men.

"Ouch!"

"Ouch!"

"Ow!"

"Damn it!"

"Sandburg!" the two men yelled in unison, diving for cover.

"Dinner, boys!" Blair bellowed in triumphant.  " _Now!_   Get your behinds in gear and hit the showers!"

In the shadow of the boxes Simon and Jim exchanged defeated glances.

"You introduce him to this?" Simon demanded, wondering what assignment he could give the detective as a fitting punishment.

Jim shook his head.

"Rainier University Collegiate Paintball Champion 1994 and 1995," Blair announced.  "Now move, maggots!"

The two detectives stood and headed for the showers.

Jim glanced over his shoulder, looking at his partner and noting his swagger.  "Just remember, Chief, humble in victory, gracious in defeat."

Blair's grin widened.  "Tomorrow, man.  Tonight I'm gonna gloat!"

 

The End


End file.
